It Doesn't Hurt to Dream
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA 'She was seriously thinking about kissing Josiah Bartlet, the President of the United States and a man old enough to be her father. Did he have any idea, she wondered. What would happen if she acted on the impulse'


**It Doesn't Hurt to Dream**

A _West Wing_ Story

By MAHC

POV: Donna

Spoilers: "Two Cathedrals;" "Manchester"

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters.

Donna watched the President for a moment, trying to read his emotions. They had to be rushing over him, overwhelming him, but he sat calmly, quietly, questioning her about the frequency of tropical storms in May. He made a kind comment about her not marrying just anyone and before she could stop herself, she had responded that it was too bad Abbey Barrington had gotten to him first and not left anything for the rest of them. He had stared at her for a moment, surprise on his face, before his eyes crinkled and he smiled. A deep flush raced up her neck, but C.J. entered and saved her. She ducked out as the Press Secretary prepared the President for his doomed announcement.

As Josh Lyman's assistant, Donna had occasionally been privy to certain information, but the bombshell that Toby had dropped just a couple of days ago beat anything she had previously acquired. Her first concern had been if the President was in any pain. She didn't question his decision, didn't wonder about their future. She had just worried about him. Toby later thanked her for her unquestioning devotion. And she did worry about the President, especially now with Mrs. Landingham's death. He had always had that contagious energy. They practically had to race beside him through the West Wing when he was pumped about something, and he was always pumped about something. But the past few days that energy had vanished. He walked slowly, without purpose, without any of his old spark. And now he had just announced to the world that, not only did he have a serious disease, but he had also withheld that information from them. Instead of resenting it, she found courage in it. How incredibly hard it must have been.

After she left the Oval Office, she and Margaret followed the motorcade and sneaked in to the back of the hall for the massive press conference. They already knew what the President would say, already dreaded hearing the words, "No, I will not seek another term." Josh had told them it was to be Answer B, and even though she did not want to hear it, she knew she had to, had to face it. Then, the President was there, dripping wet. This wasn't just from not wearing a coat, she realized. He had apparently stood for some time in the rain. But she didn't have much time to reflect on the reason for that. The crowd waited in quiet tension. Donna knew through the grapevine that C.J. had instructed the President to call on a reporter with a medical question, to ease him into it. But suddenly he was pointing at Sandy. She watched C.J.'s head whip around in shock, watched the rest of the senior staff lean forward. The President asked Sandy to repeat the question, even though Donna could tell he had heard her fine the first time. For some reason, her glance went to Leo and she saw him smile and say something to Toby. Smile! Surely not…

"Mister President, can you tell us if you'll be seeking a second term?"

A pause. The President moved his hands from the podium and eased them into his pockets. Then he allowed a slight curve to pull at his lips. "Yeah," he said clearly. Yes! "And I'm gonna win."

Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! She turned to Margaret, who looked just as stunned. In a haze, they made it back to the White House and things just exploded from there. Josh was pumped, Sam was pumped, even Toby was, in his own way, pumped.

It was several days before she saw the President again, and things had quieted somewhat. He had called her to his office to check on a few details in an upcoming speech, details he wanted to do himself without Sam's or Toby's help, and now with Mrs. Landingham…well, he needed some assistance. Charlie ushered her in. The President was seated in a chair in front of his desk, one foot propped on the opposite knee, the speech, or at least some bunch of papers, resting in his lap. She noted the extra lines that had seemed to appear on his strong features in the past few weeks. She also noted the weariness in his shoulders that had not been there even a few days ago. Through the relatively reliable grapevine, she had heard that the First Lady was majorly pissed at him for his decision. She had gone to Manchester the previous day, and Donna's sources said their parting had been less than genial.

When she entered, he looked up. "Donna!" His greeting was, as usual, genuinely welcoming. He tossed his glasses onto the desk and rose, extending the papers in his hand. "Thanks for coming."

She grinned. As if she wouldn't… "What can I help you with, Mister President?"

"These statistics. I know generally what they are, but I need to be precise for this speech. Can you get me the most recent numbers?" He stood close to her, peering at the first page for a moment, then at her.

"Of course," she assured him. Suddenly, she was aware of how close they actually were. She caught the subtle scent of his aftershave, the freshness of his clean shirt. A sudden, inexplicable wave of desire washed over her and she flushed at its surprising intensity. This was the President of the United States, for pete's sake! She had never really thought of him in any way except as a father figure. She had always wanted his respect, had secretly wished for his friendship, but had never entertained any sexual feelings. Or any that she acknowledged, anyway. But now, only inches away from him, she realized how handsome he was, and how broad his shoulders were, and what wonderful thick hair he had.

True, she had always found him attractive, in a general-appreciation-of-the-opposite-sex kind of way. That may have had something to do with the fact that there was constant sexual energy that seemed to flow between his wife and him. They had heard all the stories about the President and the First Lady, that they were very active sexually, that sometimes the secret service agents guarding their bedroom door chose to move several feet down the hall because of the uninhibited groans coming from the other side. C.J. had even told her once that they had delayed their arrival at a speech because the President and Mrs. Bartlet were…too involved in the back of the limousine to stop. Donna, herself, had even witnessed several rather public flirtatious exchanges between them.

Now, she found herself staring at him. He had not moved, apparently unsure of what she was doing. Maybe he thought she was sick, or crazy, or both. Maybe she was. She was seriously thinking about kissing Josiah Bartlet, the President of the United States and a man old enough to be her father. Did he have any idea, she wondered. What would happen if she acted on the impulse?

His distinctive voice saved her. "Donna, are you all right?"

She smiled quickly, covering as best she could. "Sure. Yes. I'm fine."

Looking her in the eye, he insisted, "'Cause you look a little peaked."

"I'm fine, sir," she assured him, then, before she could stop herself, reached out to touch his cheek. When she saw her hand against his square jaw, she froze, horrified at her actions.

He did not move for a long moment, then he turned his head so that his lips lightly brushed her palm. Donna felt weak, felt her heart race.

He reached up and moved her hand away, stepping even closer. "Donna?" It was an obvious question.

She nodded in response. The President closed the space between them and moved his fingers to her face and lips, running them lightly over her skin. She trembled uncertainly, wanting him so badly, but terrified at the same time. Very slowly, he cupped her chin and drew her to his mouth, just touching his lips to hers. Then he released her and watched her carefully. For a moment, Donna didn't know what to do or say. The kiss had been almost chaste, but the electricity that had bolted from his body to hers was undeniable. Unable to do anything else, she surrendered to the growing urges and slid her arms around his neck, meeting his mouth with hers, open and probing. She felt him gasp, heard the surprised moan he released. It only took a moment, however, for him to regain his composure, and he grasped her waist and pulled her to him.

Donna tried to analyze the situation as if she were some dispassionate onlooker. Here she was, clutching the President of the United States to her desperately, her tongue pushing into his mouth, her hands running wildly through his thick hair, her hips grinding against his, feeling the growing hardness press into her pelvis. Okay, no more dispassionate on-looking; Jed Bartlet was hard for her. He was incredibly hard. On occasion, she admitted, especially when he had worn jeans, she had wondered about the rather impressive bulge at his groin, but had not realized until now the extent to which she should be impressed. The thought made her ache deep inside for him.

The President had somewhere dropped his speech, and his fingers worked easily – no problems there – at the buttons on her sweater. In moments, he had bared her bra, a front fastener, and popped it expertly.

"Oh, Donna," he breathed. "You are beautiful." His tongue and lips found the rounded flesh beneath, dipping between her breasts. She moaned and tried to lose herself in the sensation. But then she had the powerful urge to touch him, to see him, to feel his skin without his clothing. Her hands moved on their own, over his chest, down the shirtfront, across the rib cage under the shirt, against the erect nipples, then lower. Her hand slid over his crotch and he drew a quick breath.

Donna's eyes widened. "Oh wow!" she said, before she could stop herself. He smiled and even blushed a little. "Please," she whispered, "I want you. Please."

His features darkened with desire and he quickly shed his clothes, then finished removing hers and drew her to him eagerly. "Oh, Donna," he whispered.

"Oh, wow," she managed again, unable to call him _Jed,_ and unwilling, considering the circumstances, to use _Mr. President._

Tears touched her eyes at the intimacy they shared, and she closed them tightly in an effort to control the incredible sensations that tingled and buzzed all over her body as his hands burned her skin. She opened to him, groaning as he stretched her, filled her. God, it felt incredible. She tried to coax her pounding heart into relaxing. He might be old enough to be her father, but there was a great deal to be said for experience. A _great_ deal.

When she opened her eyes again, Donna was still standing before the President, his curious gaze now intense and more than a little concerned. She could tell her cheeks were flushed and her breathing heavy. They were right where they had been, in front of his desk in the Oval Office, discussing the statistics for his speech.

"Are you sure you're all right, Donna?" he asked, gently touching her arm. He couldn't know what the warmth of his hand was doing to her right then.

With effort she didn't really want to use, she pulled away enough for him to release his grip. Forcing a smile, she nodded again, trying to keep her gaze above his hips. "Yes, sir. I'm fine. I'll…I'll have those numbers for you this afternoon, Mister President." She cursed her trembling fingers that took the papers from him.

His eyes narrowed as he considered her a little longer, obviously aware something else was going on, but unable to determine what it was. Donna prayed her body did not betray her now.

"Okay," he said finally, giving her a reassuring smile.

She darted toward the door, but his soft voice stopped her. "Donna?"

She turned and her heart fluttered as she saw the warmth in his handsome face. "Sir?"

"Thank you." She nodded and scooted out before she did something idiotic like throw herself into his arms and force him onto the couch.

When she got back to her office, she fell against the doorframe, shaking. What just happened? She had just had a very vivid daydream in the middle of the Oval Office…in front of the President of the United States…about President of the United States - an intimate, erotic, sensual daydream about him. Did he have any idea? Had she betrayed herself in any way? What would happen if he knew? Would he fire her? Would the First Lady personally disembowel her? Okay, that was a given. Or would he sweep her off her feet and make passionate love to her?

She knew the answer to that, too. Still, it didn't hurt a girl to dream…


End file.
